


Cordiform

by knell



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Tenderness, The Dawning (Destiny), bro they are just i, i forgot to even mention sagira i'm so sorry ma'am rest in peace bless up, they are just in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:14:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28806387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knell/pseuds/knell
Summary: Not a place, but a person.
Relationships: Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	Cordiform

Saint's ship is alight with color, little twinkling bulbs strung across silken banners. It's warm inside. Considering where he'd just come from, Osiris bets most places are warm in comparison. More than a comfortable temperature, there is a familiar sense of peace as he takes in his surroundings, robes rustling in the silence.

Saint has always been orderly, in a roundabout way; knicknacks line the shelves, birdseed spills from cabinets left ajar, and notes, drawings in colored pencils from the City children are taped along most walls. Everything has its place. He picks up a bauble, turning it in his fingers fondly as he circles around the small desk tucked in the corner, eyeing the stacks of weathered papers, their edges ragged and torn. It's not dissimilar to his own writing desk, and he thinks of the years' worth of letters he has hidden away.

Osiris sets the small figurine back where he found it, a hefty piece of wood carved to look like a bear. It fits snugly between a ceramic rabbit with chipping paint and an old Golden Age toy. Gifts, mostly; each item likely held some sentimental value Osiris could only guess at.

He makes his way through the living quarters and past the cockpit, decorations hung from the doorway and glittering in the diffused light, blues and golds thrown across the walls haphazardly. There’s a soft breeze weaving through the ship, and he follows it to the hatch which sits open and unguarded to all the noise and motion of the Tower’s hangar. 

And at just that moment, across the way, a familiar figure descends the steps. Osiris had always had impeccable timing, if nothing else.

Saint's return is heralded by an almost audible commotion, a stillness and then movement all at once as his presence rings out to touch all those that are near. It's a sensation Osiris knows well. He listens to the warm exchange of greetings as they echo off the high rafters, gentle conversations that Saint strikes up with the people who have been his neighbors for just over a year now. It has been so long since they have spent such time together. This time, he's hoping, will be different.

He wears his helmet even here, singed and dented, off-duty in the shade of the Traveler. It’s hard to read him, all armored up as he is, but from across the hangar he spots Osiris lingering in the open hatch of his ship and Saint’s body language instantly shifts. He perks up, shoulders straightening as he places an apologetic hand on someone’s upper arm; the woman he was speaking to pushes a small container into his open hands before they part.

When Saint's attention is on you, it's like all the honeyed warmth of the sun against your upturned face. Osiris feels himself soften in his propinquity, like layers of himself melting away the nearer they are. A cool hand on the junction between shoulder and neck, guiding him back inside so they might be alone together.

Saint had never enjoyed long stays in his ship, thus his is smaller than most; a cozy space with less than the essentials, and truly, it looks more like a tribute hall of sorts than any sort of home. The standard bunk had been removed years ago to make room for his desk and a rack for his armor, weapons. Osiris settles near the workspace and Saint across from him, close, but with enough distance that to touch would be a clear, intended action. A gap to cross, if he wanted to, if he could.

It’s Saint, of course, who cuts through the silence first.

"Do you feel it?" he asks, drawing something from the container in his hands and passing it across the space to Osiris. A biscuit, messily decorated but festive enough.

He snaps it in half and hands one piece back, hoping to get the helmet off. It works, and Osiris smiles down at the treat as he speaks. "Yes. Dawning celebrations will begin any day now." There's something electric and infectious in the air, a low drumming of anticipation as the wind grows icier all around. "The decorations have improved since last I celebrated."

"Perhaps it's your attitude that has improved," Saint suggests, helmet set aside as he bites into the cookie. Osiris gives him a significant look, and the titan laughs, brushing crumbs away. "No, you're right. What was I thinking?"

He lets his eyes focus somewhere in the background, through a window out into the open sky. "I'm sorry I wasn't here this time last year."

"You are here now." And he is forgiven, so simply, so kindly. Saint gestures to the halved confection in Osiris' hands. "Try it. You will like the flavor. It's… spicy."

Cinnamon and clove linger on his tongue, a heated sweetness he recognizes as a flavor profile popular during the colder months. It's good. Still, his mind is elsewhere. "I should have made the time—"

Saint cuts him off with a sound, shaking his head. "Time, time, time. Always time with you." He pushes the worries aside, waving a hand between them in indifference. "You spend too long in the past, the future. I do not care about these things. You are here now," he says again, emphatically, and their eyes meet.

“Yes, well.” He clears his throat, turning the dainty pastry over and over between fingers. Why was it so difficult to be straightforward, for once in his life? “I was considering… if the Vanguard allow it, of course, perhaps settling here for… a while.”

The silence is longer than Osiris had expected, and he leans back against the desk so he might gauge Saint’s expression. It is uncharacteristically unreadable, and Osiris feels an even stranger pang like ice in his gut. Had their time apart been too much this time? He’d never thought… well, that’s just it. He hadn’t considered enough outside of his own perspective. Once Saint had been pulled from the time-locked cage of not-quite death, Osiris was just as absent as ever, expecting to fall back into the same routine as before: letters across space, maybe two transmissions a month if they were lucky, an in-person visit where they could speak freely, finally, at long last, but Osiris could never quite allow himself to say what he truly wanted to. Too much talk of work and research, of problems with no solutions.

It was no foundation for a relationship, which… they were always skirting around what they were, what they weren’t. Osiris isn’t stupid; there are only so many tender glances one person can give another before it stops being _friendly_ behavior. Of course they were… something. An undefined, nebulous thing. He could sign his letters with a fond “always yours”, but could go no bolder. 

Saint takes his hand, and the cookie crumbles between them. The lavender lights of his eyes dim, mouthplate shifting in concern. When had he gotten so near?

Railing the conversation back, Osiris wonders aloud, “Do you think Zavala would welcome me back?”

Unconvinced but compliant, Saint considers briefly. “I think it is Ikora you should be worried about.”

He rolls his eyes. “Ikora and I no longer have bad blood between us.” Not necessarily true, and if the hum Saint gives in response is any indication, Osiris isn’t the only one who doesn’t believe the words. “I’ll propose it to them both this afternoon.” He hesitates. “Would you…”

“Would I…?”

His hand rests in Saint’s still, reassuring patterns traced against the lines of each finger, his knuckles. “Would you like that?” Careful, not a trace of hope in his voice.

A knowing look. “I do not think you need me to answer that, my heart.”

Osiris’ pulse kicks once, so hard he’s sure Saint can feel it. “No, but do feel free to tell me anyway.”

He laughs, bright in the space between them. Leaning in close, Saint kisses him, smiling into the contact as Osiris’ hand moves of its own accord, fingers catching in the sharp angles of his faceplate to pull him that much closer. He couldn’t remember the last time… it had been so long. 

“I haven’t been very kind to you,” he admits, pulling away with one last embrace, head swimming. “I’ll make the time to be more present. No more letters.”

“I like your letters,” Saint says affectionately, and Osiris rolls his eyes to stop himself from kissing him again. The titan grins like he knows, lilac glow spilling from within. “But thank you. It will be good to see you more—it _is_ good,” he corrects, leaning into the hand caressing his face. “I can speak to the Vanguard if they give you trouble.”

Recalling the last time Saint “spoke to the Vanguard” for him, Osiris shakes his head. He has his own apologies to deliver, bridges to mend, like it or not. After so much time away with hardly an attempt at reconciliation, it’s impossible to know how he’ll be received now. 

“You think too much,” Saint decides, drawing away. “Come, let me treat you—there is a new restaurant you will enjoy.”

“If I think too much, you eat too much.” 

“Impossible! No such thing.” 

He lets himself be moved through the quiet space, just like—before everything. Turns out it is easier than he thought to fall back into the same, familiar routine they’d always had; walking close, shoulders brushing, lingering touches and glances across a dinner table. People would wonder—are they brothers? _Very_ good friends? And he and Saint would laugh about it later as they walked home in the night.

 _Home_. That was new. Osiris had drifted for so long, a guilty man’s way of never looking back, skull too thick to look within. Everything had become more important than to dwell on mistakes of the past, himself included, arrogance easier to adopt than penitence. He hadn’t allowed himself a home, a quiet space to reflect on anything but his work. Which had always been dangerous but, lately, even Osiris could admit he’d been getting reckless. 

Rescuing Saint had been an awakening of sorts, a realization that it wasn’t a flaw of character to rely on the help of others, to ask it, even. It was the last selfish act of weakness he had indulged himself. There is only so much he can do from the Tower, and maybe that’s selfish too. He hasn’t made up his mind whether he cares or not yet.

Saint nudges him with an elbow, drawing him from his own mind; he smiles gratefully, their eyes meeting, and at long last, it feels like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this during the Dawning if it isn't obvious lol I keep writing about people pining and sharing meals, and we all know about Saint's love language, so this was bound to happen eventually.  
> Unlike my last Destiny "fic", this is one where I've genuinely loved both of the characters since D1 (the first thing I ever read in the fandom was this pairing) so I'm happy to finally have something I care about to post here even if it is short and dumb lmao  
> Thanks for reading, gamers <3


End file.
